


Moonlight Sonata

by ravengal



Category: The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-21
Updated: 2013-05-21
Packaged: 2017-12-12 13:05:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/811901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ravengal/pseuds/ravengal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It had probably been a decade since Tony touched his mother's piano, and tonight, he decided to play it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Moonlight Sonata

It had probably been a decade, maybe two, since Tony last touched the prized possession of Maria Stark which was sitting in the corner of the living room in the tower. On this night, though, he found himself walking towards it, undersuit still on him, muscles and bones weary from a full day of board meetings, press conferences, and a low key mission with Black Widow to clear up some crime lord’s possible dabble into terrorism. 

He took a seat on the piano bench, the wooden bench beneath him creaking a little from his weight, the cushion still comfortable as ever while he placed his hands on the flap to lift it up. His fingers had the layer of dust from the flap on them, and Tony examined the flap, to find many other finger imprints on it. He frowned, wondering how on Earth he had missed out on the other Avengers playing his piano in the tower. Who had played on this? What did he or she play? Who were they thinking of when they tinkle on the ivory keys? Glancing up at his ceiling, Tony figured that he could ask Jarvis, the eyes and ears of his tower, but for that rare once in a blue moon moment, his curiosity could take a back seat first. He had something else to do at the moment.

Tony let his hands glide lightly across the keys, not making a single sound yet, and instantly felt like he was four years old again, with his mother sitting beside him and teaching him patiently the notes each key made and letting him experiment with sounds and then tunes he made up on the spot. The first song he had ever learned to play was the Happy Birthday tune, something he mastered easily, nimble fingers across the keys, his soft boyish voice complementing his playing as he played in front of guests and his parents at Howard’s birthday party.  
He got pats on the back, many compliments, a few hugs, and a huge smooch and hug from his mother, but the one pat, the one compliment, the one hug, and the one smooch he truly desired, that would have truly mattered, never came. 

Thus, from that day onwards, Tony took to the piano like how he approached his budding engineering career. He made his mother teach him the difficult tunes, the challenging ones, those when played by a kid would be truly impressive. He was sure he was a genius in music as well as circuit boards, so whatever time he was spending outside the workshop was all spent perched on this bench, tackling tune after tune after tune, playing from sheer memory for many of them after a short while. 

Tony never managed to win his father’s heart through technology or music, but it became a bonding activity for mother and son, and then the rare activity they did together during Tony’s breaks from boarding school. They would sit side by side, played duets together, poured over music books over tea, music being something they could talk about and not end up fighting because Howard was not part of this world that they shared. Howard was not the sore thorn that caused mother and son to drift apart over the years, just held together by those melodious and calming tunes Tony allowed himself to indulge in when he was with her. 

At his parents’ funeral, he played a tune, more for his mother rather than anything else, and he had to blink back tears more times playing the first five minutes of Moonlight Sonata for her than when he was delivering the eulogy for both of them. Plus, if he almost exclusively turned to loud rock music after that to fill up all the empty corners of the house and his life, no one really needed to know that, and he really did not have to think about that. 

So when he recognised that what he was playing was an old tune he liked to play with his mother, Tony smiled a little wryly to himself, and decided to just close his eyes, lose himself in the music like he had not done for so long. Blue Danube Fantasy was fast, and lighthearted, and totally contrary to the mood he was in. In addition, without his mother’s input, the tune seemed incomplete, and a tad choppy, which was going to happen when he felt his fast stiffening fingers over the keys. He might be still handy in the workshop, but such a long break from playing the piano had rendered his hands not so musically inclined anymore. However, if Tony was anything, he was stubborn, so despite the stiffening and the slight ache he felt as he let his fingers pace and race and jump over the keys, the hard and fast music sounding all around the living room, bouncing off the walls, dancing in his ears, his whole body swaying with the tempo. If he glanced to his left, it was as if his mother was there, sitting with him, playing in that graceful style of hers he could never achieve. She had a magical way of making her keys strike differently without seeming to change the pressure of her fingers, and Tony could never achieve that grace, that ease, that bond with the music they played together. 

When he was finished, a loud and fast and rousing rush to the end, he huffed out a laugh, resting his fingers gently on top of keys which were silent, and looked around. He suddenly wished he had an audience, someone to again pat him on the back, compliment him, hug him, smooch him for a job well done, a tune well played, but there was no one. If there had been anyone in the tower, someone would have popped in to see who was playing the piano this late. Where did everyone go? Did he or she have a date? Who were they currently seeing or thinking of away from this tower? Glancing up at his ceiling, Tony figured that he could ask Jarvis, the eyes and ears of his tower, but for that rare twice in a blue moon moment, he let his curiosity stew quietly in the background again. He had something else to do for now.

He played Moonlight Sonata, with half the grace of before, and with double the heavy heart than he had back then, finally quietly letting the tears fall.

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by knowing that RDJ could play the piano and listening to some teenagers play the piano one night.
> 
> It's not entirely betaed, so any errors are mine.
> 
> I apologise for the lousy title - I'm never good with titles.


End file.
